


The Hybrid

by TwelveForever



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 06:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwelveForever/pseuds/TwelveForever
Summary: Now completely immobolised, he hears the shuffle of footsteps at his side and a familiar voice near his ear. “Let’s try again. What do you know about the Hybrid?”





	The Hybrid

**Author's Note:**

> More Twelve whump because I'm still rewatching series 9.

The Doctor lets out a yelp as he is roused from his sleep on the floor with a kick to his ribs. Opening a swollen eyelid, the view of the Time Lord standing above him who put his boot in his side swims into focus.

 

“Get up.”

 

The Doctor's too exhausted to put up a fight so he complies and eases himself onto his bare feet carefully; hugging his arms around his middle protectively and limping on his right knee.

 

With a gallifreyan pistol trained on the back of his head, The Doctor is led down a darkened corridor and into a small, windowless room where a single light bulb hangs overhead. He only has a few seconds to take in the dingy surroundings until a blindfold is roughly pulled over his eyes. That’s all the time The Doctor needs to make out the narrow wooden platform that is lowered at one side, with leather restraints attached at each end.

 

He feels his skin break out in a cold sweat and his hearts thumping in his throat as two Time Lord's grab hold of his arms and shove him across the room. The Doctor kicks out and struggles frantically and his knees buckle from under him when he is beaten across the back of them.

 

He’s dragged across the floor until someone in front grabs onto his feet and lifts him into the air. A moment later he’s forced flat on his back upon a hard surface with his top half sloping downwards.

 

The Doctor continues to thrash against the strong grips on his limbs until the pistol is pressed against his cheek. He lets his body go limp and tries to quell the sick feeling of dread as his hands are pulled above his head and trussed by leather straps. Below, his ankles are bound in the same way. His respiratory bypass will be useless and he knows it.

 

_Don’t panic, whatever you do, don’t panic._

 

Now completely immobolised, he hears the shuffle of footsteps at his side and a familiar voice near his ear.

 

“Let’s try again. What do you know about the Hybrid?”

 

_Don't give up now. Save Clara. You’re as good as dead if you speak, anyway. You need to bargain._

 

“Fuck you,” The Doctor spits, and a moment later someone wrenches his jaw downwards and a wet cloth is stuffed inside his mouth.

 

Two hands hold his face tightly in place as a steady stream of water splashes onto his mouth and The Doctor starts to gag against the cloth. He convulses violently in his restraints, shuddering and heaving as he tries to take in a breath.

 

His fingers claw desperately into the flesh of his palms and draw blood as he fights to breach the surface of a black lake, and slowly weakens as the seconds tick by.  
Nearly a minute passes before his eyes close and his lungs reach bursting point.

 

* * *

 

The Doctor regains consciousness when he’s slapped hard across his cheek and realises that the gag has been removed. Coughs wrack his chest as he sucks in a few ragged breaths before the other man speaks again.

 

“Was that enough to persuade you to talk?”

 

_Keep it together, there’s still time, you can do this, you have to save Clara._

 

“Here’s a few words,” The Doctor replies though his wheezing, “ _Go to hell_.”

 

Laughter rings out in the enclosed space and The Doctor's mouth is forced open again.

 

* * *

 

“All you need to do is tell us what you know about the Hybrid,”

 

His shirt is saturated and clings to his cold skin, which The Doctor figures is only half the reason why he can’t stop shivering. Shock is taking hold and he wonders how long it will be until his oxygen-starved brain ceases to function. _Clara, Clara, Clara._

 

The Doctor has clenched his jaw shut tightly and refuses to open up, even after someone digs their fingers between his teeth and bottom lip and pulls down. His gums tear and blood trickles down his chin, and they settle for smothering his face with the cloth instead.

 

When The Doctor doesn’t respond to the question, water gushes onto his face _save Clara_ and he’s drowning in the freezing depths of his dark prison once more.

 

* * *

 

“Everyone has a breaking point, Doctor.”

 

Through the fog of waking consciousness, The Doctor has lost track of time. How long has he been like this? Hours? _Days?_ His bleeding mouth falls slack and his head droops to the side as he lies there listlessly, barely taking notice of the movements around him.

 

“Yours just takes more creativity to reach,”

 

The Doctor doesn’t react as a pistol is pressed into the palm of one of his hands and he waits for the pain. What comes instead is the crash of wood splintering as the room’s door bursts open and the hand holding the gun wavers. A second later a blast of gunfire sounds and the heavy thwack of a body slamming into the concrete wall next to him. There's shouts and a scrambling of movement and four more shots, then silence.  
The Doctor hears a sound like a sick moan near the door and the slap of shoes across the floor as someone reaches his side.

 

" _Please, no_ ," a voice begs, and the blindfold is ripped from The Doctor's face.

 

He opens his sensitive eyes against the harsh overhead light, and squints to make out the young woman's profile. The Doctor flinches against Me's hand as she cups the side of his clammy cheek and tilts his mouth towards her ear, listening as his breath comes in shallow intakes.

 

Me's voice is thick as she swallows back tears. “Oh Doctor, what have they done?”

 

* * *

 

For The Doctor, the next few hours come as a blur of lights, the ceiling of a barn and figures hovering above him.

 

When someone dabs at his mouth with a wet towel he becomes hysterical and lashes out, and Me rushes forward to gently pry The Doctor's hands from a woman's forearms, which leave red fingerprints. Me leans down and holds him in an act of comfort and restraint; whispering calming words into his hair as The Doctor feels a sharp sting near his shoulder and he slumps back into his pillow when his vision turns bleary.

 

The Doctor wakes that evening in the dim light of the barn, and hears a muffled voice through the closed barn doors. He turns over beneath the sheets and gingerly moves his stiff ankles and wrists that are bruised purple. Both palms are patched with gauze, and The Doctor runs his tongue along his lower lip and feels a similar material there, tasting copper and something like the residue of antiseptic. Sitting up slowly, he waits for a wave of dizziness to pass and gets out of the wooden bed to hobble to his clothes on a chair. _He will save Clara._ He can't stop, _not now._


End file.
